Svngs of the Wind on a 
Southern Shore 

And Other Poems of Florida 

M 

GEORGE E. MERRICK 




Class 

Book._l. 
Copyright }J? 



r. ,(. 



CGEOuam DEPOSIT. 



SONGS OF THE WIND ON 
A SOUTHERN SHORE AND 
OTHER POEMS OF FLORIDA 



r'"«"-r-->'»'* «a 




SONGS OF THE WIND 
ON A SOUTHERN SHORE 

AND OTHER POEMS OF FLORIDA 



By 
GEORGE E. MERRICK 

II 

WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR 
FROM PAINTINGS BY DENMAN FINK 




Boston 

The Four Seas Company 

1920 



Copyright, ip20, by 
The Four Seas Company 



The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



St,' 27 1920 
g)CU605441 



CONTENTS 

Florida — The Treasure Land ii 

Moonlight in Old St. Augustine ... .15 

Song of the Wind on a Southern Shore . . 17 
A Grave in the Everglades .... .21 

The Royal Poinciana in Bloom 24 

Gulf Stream Phosphorescence 25 

Where the Trade Wind Blows 26 

Lighthouses 30 

The Tamiami Trail 31 

The Eden Isle 34 

Exiles 35 

My Sweetheart Bird 39 

Valentine to an Island Love 41 

When the Groves Begin to Bear ... .42 

After the Hurricane 45 

The Defeat of the Frost-King's Hordes . . 46 

My Treasure Ships 50 

From the Old Dyke 51 

Love Afar 53 

Cypresses 54 

Gulf Storm-Song 56 

My Love is a Tourist 57 

The Cloud Mountains of Florida ... .61 

Heir of Tropic Spring 64 

Song of the Whip-poor-will 65 

Ballad of the Angel Fish 70 

Along the Indian River 71 

Clouds and Hopes 73 

Golden Days on the Oklawaha .... 74 

Returning Alone 76 

The Coming of Tropical Night ^y 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Facing ^ ^ 

The Song of the Wind .... Frontispiece '"^ 
Moonlight in Old St. Augustine .... 14^' 

A Grave in the Everglades 22^ 

The Tamiami Trail 32^ 

Cypresses 54^" 

The Cloud Mountains of Florida .... 62'^ 



SONGS OF THE WIND ON 
A SOUTHERN SHORE AND 
OTHER POEMS OF FLORIDA 



FLORIDA— THE TREASURE LAND 

A thousand miles of silvered shore. 
An hundred thousand treasure isles 
— That sun-laved line broad sparkling aisles, 
Deep-steeped in wealth of Faery store; — 
— Has Florida. 

And countless lakes — each one a gem — 
That flash their riches to the sun. 
A myriad rivers gleaming run — 
The Springs of Youth in each of them 
— In Florida. 

To East — a mythic crystal Sea: 
To West — a Gulf of molten gold; — 
And both a wealth of life enfold — 
And ancient tales of mystery — 

— 'Round Florida. 

And for her heart — an opal Lake; — 
— (By Indian name — "the mighty sea") — 
... A Croesus Empire there will be — 
Where league-ward rolls an em'rald brake 
— In Florida. 

Ten thousand thousand fattened kine 
Upon her rolling ranges graze; — 
'Bove buried wealth of Earth's young days: — 
The store-house rich of fossil mine, 
— 'Neath Florida. 
[11] 



The fairest mountains that arise 
Pile peaks and crags in glowing change- 
Like an enchanted fairy range — 
Loom near; — then fade in tropic skies 
— 'Bove Florida. 



The sweetest breath the fairies know; — 
And perfumed deep of spices rare — 
Borne from far countries whence they fare;- 
Their stolen wealth — the trade-winds blow 
— On Florida. 



And here the flowers have caught the glow 
Of glorious golden sunsets rare: — 
Hibiscus — Poinciana — flare ! — 
Such splendid wealth what land can show 
— Like Florida. 



And Midas' spirit rides the breeze: — 
. . .When it has passed. . .'midst glossy leaves 
Bright golden loads break em'rald trees — 
Like Apples of Hesperides — 

— Through Florida. 

Along the diamond-glist'ning strand, 
Where palm trees wave their fronded arms; 
Are ghosts that hear their faint alarms — 
And guard the wealth of pirate band 
— 'Neath Florida. 
[12] 



Those men of Kidd's, — and Caesar — Black, 
Who lawless roamed the India seas; 
Lie, — bones by chests — 'neath tropic trees; — 
For all their treasure they brought back 
—To Florida. 



Far fathoms deep, the turquoise blue 
So clear as clearest crystal lies. — 
Encrusted there — in coral guise — 
Is gold as rich as Midas knew 
—Off Florida. 

As though their greater art to show: — 
O'er buried shapes of Spanish skill. 
The coral builders work their will 
In jewelled forms: — that wondrous grow 
— 'Long Florida. 

And this is how it came to be 
That of all lands — their richest store. 
Is part of thee. — In days of Yore — 
The Fairies reigned on land and sea 
— And Florida. 



Of wealth of every plane and kind — 
Of every gift that Nature bore — 
Each Fay was Lord ! — Each had his special store 
( — And some gifts then you could not find 
— In Florida.) 
[13] 



But some were good : — and some were bad. 
Some — 'tis sure — were Pirate Pays! 
These lived those prehistoric days 
Where — e'en their worst were always glad: — 
— In Florida. 

And from this Land they fared away — 
So wild and free — In lawless quest. 
( — And all the wise will know the rest! — ) 
'Tis said — they brought each captured Fay 
—To Florida. 

And here they made those luckless Fays : — 

( — By dint of threat that fairies make, 

When they force and break — and treasures 

take — ) 
Leave their richest wealth: Their Fairest 

Ways — 

— In Florida. 



[14] 



MOONLIGHT IN OLD ST. AUGUSTINE 

By pitted walls of ancient rose 
Poinsettias' glow the night-noon shows. 
And purple petals sifting fall 
Upon the faded crumbling wall. 
... As if, with vivid youthful glows 
To still enliven time-worn rose! 



Alladin-built, Alhambra-towered Inn 

(Granada's wealth transferred by Jinn!) 

Rears domes as for a Khan arose. 

. . . Apart — from dazzling garish grounds 

Rich jeweled round in elfish glows ; 

— As shadows flee — shrink wiser mounds. 

Where shrouded San Sebastian seems 
A mystic flow of Long-gone dreams, 
Rustling tongues; — and far deep-voiced roar 
Speak, here, a strangely foreign lore. 
And, here, on walls of ancient rose 
The soft transforming moonlight flows. 

A wiser glow; that stirs, — yet calms: 
An older speech sighs through the palms. 
Below, — by crumbling faded wall, 
Old spirits stir, and hush, and call: 
Gaunt gnarled oaks in dreaming breeze 
Cast living reminiscent frieze. 
[15] 



O'er dungeoned dour coquina maze 

Shadows tread accustomed ways, 

And moated tow'rs yield whispered moan: 

Faint rasping clank, — as steel on stone — 

The pond'rous thud of oaken bale: 

. . . Despairing, deep-entombed wail. 

The flood-tide flows above white bars 
Where shadows move of ghostly spars. 
... Up from the channel's reedy growth 
Comes mellow-echoed Latin oath. 
. . . And halyards rattle — far away . . . 
. . . Where day-light shows a crumbled quay. 

O'er Anastasia's shifting dunes 
The ever-searching sea- wind croons; 
. . . Unwilling tool of olden knaves 
Whom, hopeful still, seek treasure graves. 
Responsive sedge yield soughing tunes: 
. . .The miser cedars clutch doubloons. 

The bougainvilla petals fall 

On dim-remembered trysting wall, 

Their purple sows 

The pitted walls of ancient rose. 

. . . Faintly falls through scented haze 

Undying echoes 

Of dead forgotten roundelays 



[16] 



SONG OF THE WIND ON A SOUTHERN SHORE 

I ripple the fronds of the cocoanut palms, 

As I join with the voice of the sea 
The somnolent swell of the mystical psalms 

That I breathe from the quivering tree. 
I hush to the cries of the wandering crane 

Out over the shimmering lee ; 
The murmuring moan of the faraway main, 

And the hum of the hovering bee: — 
Then I leap to the crest of the towering pine 

And I sing of the life that I see. . . 

I sing of the sweep of the fathomless deep 

And the leagues of the wallowing trail; 
I echo the roar of the wave-battled steep 

Over-hung by the vaporous veil ; 
I murmur the moan of the low-toned dirge, 

And the plaint of the ocean gull's wail. 
I feather the crest of the breaker-torn surge 

As again on the top of the gale 
I shriek through the mist, by the dashing spray 
kissed, 

As I hasten the floundering sail. 

I sing of the spot far-away in the East 

Where the Sun rises out of the sea; 
Where the flying-fish plunge for their scattering 
feast 
Midst the porpoises leaping in glee ; — 
Where the sea- weeded isles in the radiant light 

[17] 



Are alive with the Life of the Sea. . . 
As the cormorant coveys arise in shrill flight 

And go skimming along beside me, 
I sing the wild song of the ocean-bred fowl 

In the full throbbing voice of the free. 

I sing of far isles in the crystalline blue 

Where the air ever whispers of May; 
Where the seas ever glow with a phosphorent hue 

Round the ships that are waiting alway; 
Where the skies are ablaze with a slumberous 
haze 

And the clouds, — like the barques of a Fay — 
Are hanging becalmed in the odorous maze 

As the sails on an enchanted bay. 
And the land is sunk deep in a languishing sleep, 

And in dreams of an Age Far-away. 

I sing of the depth of the sulphur-blue sky. 

And the Realms of its furtherest lease. 
I whisper the tale of the visions that lie 

Far beyond where my earth-travels cease : — 
The mystical place of the outermost space 

Where the travel-aged winds are at ease: 
And so faintly there comes with an infinite grace 

Through the floods of Eternity's peace 
The dreamy refrain of the measureless worlds. 

Like an echo of age-buried seas. 

I sing of the quest of the tropical moon — 

As it floats like a vessel of gold 
Through the silvery floods of a fairy lagoon 
[18] 



On the journey that never is old. . . 
And I faint 'neath the spell that is left in its way 

— As a dream of the loves yet untold, — 
An amorous incense that issues alway 

From the wealth of its magical hold,— 
And I murmur the tune,— through the languorous 
swoon, 

— Of the romance I fain would unfold. 

I dream of the home of the Fairies and Fays 

On the isles of the calm southern sky, 
Of the fanciful turrets and towers ablaze 

In the flood of the rays from on high ; 
Of the motionless miles of the wonder-lined aisles 

Where the curlew and pelican fly 
To the flame-gowned peaks of the aerial piles 

That arise in the magical sky; 
And I catch the faint notes of a music that floats 

From the isles,— like a joy-laden sigh. 

I breathe the perfume of the salt-spraying spume; 

The odor of orange-blown bowers; 
I gather the wealth of acacia bloom 

O'er the ruins of age-crumbled towers 
Where on high the saccharine breath of the palms 

Exhales from the lotus-like flowers. . . 
As I drowse in the subtle and amorous calm 

So sweetly enticing my powers, 
I am lulled to a deep and oblivious sleep 

Through the fragrance of odorous hours. 
And often my song is a-tune with the joy 

That is sung by the soft summer sea;— 
[19] 



The swift-tripping notes the fairies employ 

As they dance round the rainbow with me ; — 
The care-distant chords of the Hght-hearted 
hordes 

That people the isles of the sea, 
And my heart bubbles o'er with their volatile lore 

That I chatter in merriest glee. 
So often my song is a-tune with their joy 

Those throbs from the throats of the Free. 

But sometimes all breathings of gladness are fled 

And my voicings are full of the woe 
That burdens the sea for souls that are dead; 

Of the tragedies hidden below: — 
For I blend in my tone, the ocean's low moan. 

All the comfortless dirge of its flow; 
Of soul-shrivings lone on hurricanes blown 

E'en the sob of the tidal-trapped doe ; — 
And I breathe forth my sigh to the sorrowing sky 

From the fullness of grief that I know. 

I ripple the fronds of the cocoanut palms 

As I join with the voice of the sea 
The somnolent swell of the mystical psalms 

That breathe from the quivering trees . . . 
I hush to the cries of the wandering crane 

Out over the shimmering lee; 
The murmuring moan of the far-away Main; 

And the hum of the hovering bee : . . . 
Then I leap to the crest of the towering pine 

And I sing of the Life that I see. 
[20] 



A GRAVE IN THE EVERGLADES 

By the rise of a palm-grown highland 

Far out in the Everglade, 
In a mound on a jungle island, 

Is a Seminole warrior laid. 
There in the midst of the prairie. 

Desolate, forgotten, lone; 
'Neath a mound in a land most dreary 

The land he had thought his own. 

The live-oaks are growing around it ; 

And their roots are deep in the mound ; 
A palm that years ago found it 

Reaches sixty feet up from the ground. 
A grave in the midst of the prairie 

With palmetto-scrub overgrown; 
On an isle in a land most dreary, 

In the land he had thought his own. 

Weighed down with a burden of sorrow 

The Spanish moss drapes in dank gray. 
And the sunbeams, filtering, borrow 

The dullness of a storm darkened day. 
On the isle where the cocoa-plum tosses 

He lies, — forgotten and lone: 
His grave overhung by the mosses 

Of the live-oaks he had thought his own. 



[21] 



From his bed midst the hycacinth-canna 

The 'gator crawls out for his prey, 
O'er the mound, through the bed of lantana 

Where the sun-loving mocassins lay; 
'Mongst the kind of his long-ago quarry 

But heedless of murmur or moan 
He lies in the midst of the prairie 

In the land he had thought his own. 

Here the egret and flamingo, fleeing 

Prom the invading and death-deahng foe, 
Find escape for a dread time-being 

O'er the bones of the one laid low; 
For him, also, they had pressed and invaded, 

And had reaped where he had sown, — 
In those days e'er the warriors faded 

From the land they had thought their own. 

And the wind through the jungle passes 

With a burden of infinite woe, — 
That is whispered in the tall cane grasses 

That along by the channels grow: 
Breathings of a time when the prairie 

Had been roamed by the Red men alone. 
When they had hunted, unsuspecting, unwary. 

Through the land they had thought their own. 

Of that time, of the harsh awaking, 

Of their bitter unmerited wrong: 
Of the steady insidious taking; 

Of the struggle so hopeless and long. 

[22] 



And the wind sighs through the mosses 
'Bove the mound with palms overgrown: 

Breathing a sob of a people's losses — 
The loss of the land they had thought their own. 

Now new pulsings are borne from the distance 

That are stirring the cocoanut fronds, 
With the murmur of an unused assistance 

In the freeing of age-customed bonds. 
But to these of the glade and savannah 

Such murmurs remain ever unknown; 
Under mounds overgrown with lantana 

They will sleep in the land of their own. 

In the shade of a palm-grown highland, 

In the mystical Everglade; 
'Neath a mound of a hammock island, 

Is a Seminole warrior laid. 
In the midst of the vista of grasses; 

Desolate, forgotten, lone: 
And the wind that continually passes, 

Sweeps the land he had thought his own. 



[23] 



THE ROYAL POINCIANA IN BLOOM 

Scarlet bloom of deepest dye, 

That with the summer sunset vie 

In flashful boast, thy thick-massed flame: — 

Lo! Thou hast put its wealth to shame: 

For all out-done, the tropic sun 

Recalls his tint-skilled fays of fire, — 

Glowing rich in envy as they fly. 

The blood-red gleam of nonpareil 

Amidst thy glare is hid so well 

That none can know 'tis bowered there 

With scarlet flash of tanager: — 

Nor, — faraway, in heat of day — 

— A crimson stain against the green — 

From very flame one can'st thee tell. 
Above thy growth of tender green, — 
That in thy pride can'st not be seen — 
The throbbing pulse of flames' desire 
Seems urging tongues of crimson higher; 
— As spray- wove gleams o'er molten streams: 
Or combing surges breaking low 
Upon a sea of fire. 

The southern land that yields thy store 
Of matchless wealth; — in days of yore 
Had envied oft the sunset sky 
Where tropic summer's gift days die 
In glory's blaze: — And, testing all her ways 
She found at last thy blood-dyed bloom ; 
— Than which the sky can'st do no more! 

[24] 



GULF STREAM PHOSPHORESCENCE 

Now night has encompassed the far-fading sea 
Where her garbings of death smother low. 
The prow of our ship through the black mystery 
Unbares the live silver below. 

In the wake of our way a treasure vein gleams: 
White cataracts streaming of lights: 
And cascading jewels of barbaric dreams: 
Old wealth of Arabian Nights'. 

And now as I look, star galaxies glow: 
— Of universe born for a breath ; — 
And constellar systems in wild orbits, go 
On the instant of birth to their death. 

And trillion aged planets above me there are: 

Yet, these phosphorous worlds are a sign 

That more brief is the span of the longest-lived 

star, 
— Compared with mine. 



[25] 



WHERE THE TRADE WIND BLOWS 
A Rover's Song 

I. 

I've wandered quite a bit 

Far lands and countries o'er: 

In gentle climes I've picked rare fruits; 
And dallied pleasing hours 

By murm'ring brooks. I've dreamed far thoughts : 
And picked the fairest flowers : 

Yet- 
There' s a land that always calls me 
— And that draws me more and more 

Where the Oleander grows: 

— And the bright Poinsettia glows: — 

And the trade-wind blows — 

On the coral-jewelled margin 
Of the Biscayne Shore. 

II. 

Far North where I was born 

Great mountains sun-ward soar. 

And rushing rivers ceaseless roll 

Where leagues of fir-trees stand. 

The snows of old upon those peaks 
Forever chill the land. 

But— 

There's a Shore I know — that draws me 
And that warms me all the more! — 



[26] 



Where the gumbo-hmbo grows: — 
And the little lizards doze — 

Where the trade-wind blows 

Through the palm-tufted curvings 
Of the Biscayne shore. 

III. 
I've gazed in fearsome awe 

Where floods all mighty pour 
To roaring depths. And I have seen 

Old Nature shift her winter screen, 
And all the world that was so dead 

Flash forth in faery green. 

Still— 

There's a something always brings me 

To the Land of mystic lore: — 
Where the Poinciana glows: — 

And the lotus flowers close — 
Where the trade-wind blows 

O'er the silver-sprinkled ledges 
Of the Biscayne shore. 

IV. 
In far lost lands I've heard 

The songs of sirens store. 
O'er desert sands I've trailed in quest 

Of that which satisfies: — 
Forgotten seas I've fruitless sailed: 

— 'Neath flaming southern skies — 
[27] 



Till: 

'Last I found my quested mooring; 

And my search for e'er is o'er 
Where the red hibiscus grows: 

— And the fragrant twilight glows — 
Where the trade-wind blows 

O'er the opalescent shallows 
Of the Biscayne shore. 

V. 

I've breathed: I've drank: I've dreamed: — 

Of gifts the Magi bore — 
But in each spell I've felt the lack 

Of that which is the soul 
Of inmost wealth : It's satisfying core. 

Of dreams — my dearest goal 
Lies — 

In the Land whose beauty draws me 

Where my dreams fare wide no more; 
Where the coral creeper glows: 

— 'Midst the plumes the Fairy sows — 
And the trade-wind blows 

O'er the coral-treasured ledges 
Of the Biscayne shore. 

VI. 

Of Heav'n I've had a glimpse: 

— (Not Revelations lore) — 

But I have mused beneath the palms, 
Through fragrant-falling haze: 
[28] 



That God could make right here a heaven 
By only willing endless days. 

For— 

With eternity for living, 

Who could dream of asking more! 

Where the phosphorescence flows: 

— And the heart small sorrow knows- 

And the trade-wind blows 

On the golden-fruited islands 
— Of the Biscayne shore. 



[29] 



LIGHTHOUSES 

From the treacherous coralhne lips 

That pant for prey, 
The hfe of a thousand ships 

They guide alway. 

On the course of one vessel I know 

Shines only — one: 
Yet the gleam of all others' may fade or may go ; 

— Mine, changes none. 

The glow that it throws finds the near ; or the far 

Wide wastings through. 
Your love and your faith its keepers are : 

Its light is — You. 



[30] 



THE TAMIAMI TRAIL 

**0h! East is East: and West is West:" 
— And though on magic feet — 

(As was sung by poet of wisdom blest) 
"Never the twain sliall meet." 



But here 'twixt gulf and ocean strand; 

Where Nature lowers a mystic veil; 
Is a wondrous fair and a magic land 

— Here the twain do really meet! 

For it is here: by the wise men planned: 

— (Where the Old does not avail) — 

That the Gulf ebbs east: and the Sea wends 
west — 
By the Tam-i-am-i Trail. 

Oh! Bronze is Bronze: and White is White: 

— (Yet Bronze the first was here I) . . . 

But Bronze seems wrong: and White seems right: 
. . . Through thrice a hundred year ! 



Through the grass-grown 'glades, — high fronded 
blades 
O'er channels' flow, drop lotus bloom . . . 
The bronze man fades — 

— As the petals from their plume. 
In gloom — the cypress tower . . . 

— And somber guard his tomb. 
[31] 



And it is here — where the White has pressed! 

— (Where the Old did not avail) — 
That the Gulf ebbs east: and the Sea wends 
west: — 

By the Tam-i-am-i Trail. 



The broad white road; — to dazzled sight — 

Cleaves clean the em'rald sod. 
A long keen sword, — that flashes bright 

To the Heart of a Hermit God! 
So His hfe-blood drains to the waterway 

Where the Gulf and Ocean greet. — 
And much of his wealth will be borne away 

On that channel between his feet! 
For a God's a God ! — But Man is blest 

That the Old can not prevail. 
Thus — the Gulf ebbs east: and the Sea wends 
west: 

By the Tam-i-am-i Trail. 



A God's a God! And Man is Man! 

But One rules over each. 
And through all Life there's but One Plan: 

We learn — but never teach. 

And so He laid in earth's young days 
— The 'glades' great treasure store. — 

To yield more praise — who found His Ways : 
— He locked o'er the 'glades a door. 
[32] 



He said: **The last shall be the best:"— 
— (Though the doubters still do rail) — 

E'er the Gulf ebbed east: and the Sea went west; 
By the Tam-i-am-i Trail. 

V. 

A million of years have sped and gone! 

At last it had to be — 
In the mind of man there came a dawn : 

And they now have found the key. 

For by dredge and scoop — in vaunting dare: 

They are drawing aside the door. — 
In the Everglades — will lay all bare 

A fabulous treasure store! 
**As far as the East is from the West." 

(So flows the Psalmist's lore) 
— But God Himself did so prevail: — 
That the Gulf ebb east: and the Sea wend west 

By the Tam-i-am-i Trail. 



[33] 



THE EDEN ISLE. 

Written from a fac-simile of a Maxfield Parish ship upon 
a veritable Parish sea. 

Oh come, oh my love ! I have found now a place 
Where old romance dawns ever a-new: 
Where the Spirit of Love unveils her fair face; 
And fairies trip over the blue. 

'Tis an isle in the seas of Tennyson's dream 
When he sang of the Eden isles : 
And the waters surrounding so crystal they seem, 
As to mirror the heavenly aisles. 

And listen, my love! As we fly to this isle 
Where luscious fruits ripen on lustrous tree. 
We'll sail the Gulf waters for purple-pale mile, 
— To the bounds of a Parish sea. 

When we glide through the gates of that velvet 

bay blue, 
— Gates, — that like corralline lions brown stand, — 
In our Parish-white ship, with our fairy-brown 

crew, — 
We will beach on that Eden strand. 

So come, oh my love, to this far-away place 
Where sweet romance dawns ever a-new ! 
Where the Love of all Ages is seen in the face 
That Nature here shows unto you. 

[34] 



EXILES 

Note: A pathetic sight rarely, but occasionally to be 
seen in far Southern Florida is that of lonely, starved little 
clumps of northern maple, actually growing in jungles of 
cypress, and amidst smothering tropical growth. 

Comes slumberous haze to cloudless sky; 

Come Northern birds — that hither fly 

Autumnally! 

— Naught else — comes here, 'midst tropic dream 

That might to heart-sick North-man seem 

— As used to be. 

My yellowed fruit 'midst glossy leaves ; 
My orchid bloom! — Each prize receives 
Cold care from me. 
For autumn comes! — Of all the year 
One time that tropics fail to cheer, 
And heaven be. 

The bamboos' spell; — palms' siren song; — 

All green hot things— just now seem wrong! 

. . .Cold-gleaming star! 

Rare tangs — rich glows — rush back to me! 

And dully now, I feel to be 

— Exiled a-far. 

Within a cypress jungle near 
Barbaric palms proud tufts uprear 
Through strangling vine. 

[35] 



And, strangely, here sparse maple trees 
Despondent, — breathe an alien breeze. 
— I call them mine. 

If borne on birds south-winging flight ; 

Or Nature-sown, — to mock their plight: — 

No one can know. . . 

To keep from them dank growths away 

That, reptile-armed, reach out to slay, — 

— I often go. 

The pilgrim flocks are 'lighting now 

At far-sought goal by jungle slough ; 

— November's sign! 

. . .Prom growths that but one colour know, 

I turn — to my brave maples' glow 

— As to a shrine ! 

And now to me those maples seem 
As friendly door to far-off dream 
— No more to be. 
Now, as I dabble in their leaves 
I feel with me a spirit grieves 
— In sympathy. 

They seem to draw themselves apart 
From leavage cursed with savage art 
Of Greenery! 

In alien land of unknown speech — 
My maples now a lesson teach 
— Of constancy. 

[36] 



For, when the birds in jungle trees 

Shed northern speech on tropic breeze 

— My maples know! 

. . .And do a brave and honest thing! 

. . .Though savage-clutched in green-fraught 

ring,— 
— They strive to glow! 

And gumbo-limbo, palm, and bay; — 

The reptile vines — the moss green-gray; 

The wonder see ! 

And as my maples bravely flare, — 

I fancy, now, the live-oaks stare 

— In jealousy! 

The breeze that lilts their starving reds 
Stirs murmuring, deep-despondent heads 
To memory. 

. , .And then I'm sure my maples dream 
Of far ancestral woods; — a-gleam 
Like golden sea. 

Of kindred trees by rushing run 
Where flashing trout greet copper sun 
'Mongst mighty mounds. 
• — Of brother leaves — like painted ship — 
That down Canadian rivers slip 
To'wards roaring sounds ! 

Of sister rows; — by quiet street 
Where homeward children yelling greet 
Fresh garment-heaps! 

[37] 



And grandly plunge through flaming mounds, 
In engines huge — propelled by sounds, 
Up fancied steeps! 

Of kindly kin by trysting lane ; 

Where glowing Jack, and star-eyed Jane 

Stroll happily. 

. . . My maples then as spinsters seem, — 

When hope is fled, — yet helpless dream 

Maternally. . . . 



Now, poignant night comes rushing down, 

In green-gray mauve my maples drown; 

— As flaming star. 

. . . Like leaving dead, — I turn away . . . 

Ah! Deeply, now, I feel today 

— Exiled a-far. 



[38] 



MY SWEETHEART BIRD 

I have a little sweetheart bird 

That sings sweet songs to me, . . . 

And now I know . . . what failed me so . . . 
When other birds . . . 
Sang songs to me. 

I had a little blue-clad bird 

Whose trills were filled with mystery . . . 
But while she trilled I felt my bird 
Was thrilled ... 
By else but me. 

And once a fairy yellow bird 

Beneath the orange tree 
Sang sprightly strains — (an elfish bird) — 

And came . . . 
Quite close to me. 

And long ... a saucy red-robed bird 
Sang sensuous notes in tempting plea. 

At nights she came so close : . . . and oft I thought 
I loved 

Her melody. 

I prized a sober brown-hued bird 
That sang old songs to me . . . 
But she has flown : — and none have known 
Where e'er . . . 
My bird may be. 

[39] 



And there was, too, a tiny bird 

That always seemed to flee! 
I closed her 'round : . . . and then I found 

There was . . . 
No fear of me. 

I spied a wild and pretty bird 
That warbled chords of glee : . . . 

I thought: ... no love can capture her: . 
She always . . . 
Will be free. 

. . . But now — I have a sweetheart bird 

That stays so close to me. 
Her message wings: — as low she sings- 

And she . . . 
Sings but to me. 

And from her heart my sweetheart bird 

Lifts sweetest melody. 
And thus you know ... I named her so ! 

She is . . . 
Most sweet to me. 



I have a little sweetheart bird 

That sings sweet songs to me. 
. . . And now I know . . . what failed me so 
When other birds . . . 
Sang songs to me. 

[40] 



^ 



VALENTINE TO AN ISLAND LOVE 

To Eunice 

Brown eyes of fair Hispania; 

Black hair of Indie Isle; 

Inheriting of old Britannia 

— Not your langourous Latin smile, — 

But your stubborn wilful spirit, — 

Your spunky saucy style. 



Sweet lips — of kisses Elysian: — 

More fragrant than "Parfume Van tine." 

Chic grace — of essence Parisian: 

Hot temper that most matches mine: — 

True heart; — filled with love that is precious: 

Why you are my Valentine! 



[41] 



''WHEN THE GROVES BEGIN TO BEAR" 

There's a phrase we heard so often 
In the days not long ago ; 
And the words — as always — soften; — 
Bring the ache such memories know; 

I can hear — my father's saying: — 
— "When the groves begin to bear!" 

There's the rooms of our old cabin: 
There's our parents talking slow: 
And a hush of childish "gabbin," 
As we hear so grave and low; 

"Yes; — we — wiir — my father's saying: — 
"When the groves begin to bear!" 

In the days when all was labor, 
From the morn past evening's sun: 
Nor the time to even "neighbor;" 
Not an hour for any fun ; — 

"But we wiir — my father's saying: — 
— "When the groves begin to bear!" 



Oh, that brave and hopeful saying! 
And that kept our hearts alive; 
When his iron will-pow'r, staying, 
Only kept us in the drive ! 

[42] 



Those heart'ning words! — my father's saying: 
— "When the groves begin to bear!" 

When the freeze and "drown'd — out" got us, 
Sometimes then, as I recall; 
There was only one thing brought us 
Out the dark and hopeless pall; — 

"Still the treesl — my father's saying: — 
— *'When the groves begin to bearV 

So, through thick and brunt of laying 
For the future : — Here — and Then ; 
E'en himself; he nerved by saying 
O'er and o'er; and o'er, again: — 

Those brave words — my father's saying — 
— "When the groves begin to bear!" 



And the pang to know that after 
All these hopes — so long deferred: — 
When came chance for joy and laughter: 
He never shared the boons conferred. 

.He was not here to prove his saying: — 
— When the groves began to bear! 

[43] 



still; — I know that over Yonder — 
There — the groves are golden: — yet, — 
— There he sits in hopeful ponder 
O'er the Trees he also set: — 

. . . I can hear — my father's saying: — 
— "When those groves begin to bear!" 



[44] 



AFTER THE HURRICANE 

Gray-purple dusk behind the wrath-swept hill: — 
An out-limned broken o^ik; black, — lone: — once 

tall. 
Drear tragic figure, — bowed by awful Will — 
Transfixed against the fading fateful pall. 



[45] 



THE DEFEAT OF THE FROST-KING'S 
HORDES 

[Note: On the rolling ridges of North Central Florida, 
(which are in fact, the ultimate southern termination of 
the Appalachian system) are to be found, strangely 
mingled, the growths of the north and tropics. And in 
November, the traveler observes stunted north-oak, and 
occasional maples, true to their traditions, flaming feebly 
among the tropic green of live-oak and palm. As one 
journeys south-ward, along the ever diminishing ridges, 
the green tropic flat-woods from Gulf and Atlantic sides, 
encroach ever closer and closer, until the last flaming 
reminder of northern color is engulfed in universal 
greenness . . . One gains the vision of a great invading 
army, marching victoriously far southward — to fall 
finally in defeat, through cunningly planned ambush.] 

Three thousand miles, and more, they march, 

— ^White Armies of the North! 
And in their wake where dead up-arch 

Ensanguined hues flare forth. 

Unchecked; they sweep from Arctic Bay 
— Where first they blustered forth; 

And south-ward flames their bloodhued way; 
Red Armies of the North ! 

Through helpless shiv'ring stricken land 

Southward rolls their march. 
On mountain rocks ; by river sand ; 

The dying brown and parch. 

Three thousand miles they march, and more; 

No army dares stand forth 
To battle wage on northern floor 

— With Armies of the North! 
[46] 



Not one within their path they spare: 

No tiny flutt'ring life, 
They leave higharched aisles a-flare: 

Slim throats they put to knife. 

Their victims fall, thick-lain, to earth 

In mounds of dying red. 
Each flaring waste holds fearful dearth 

Of else but heaping dead. 

They leave no little humble home: 

But, all, as prey acclaim. 
— Tall spire and sweeping templed dome 

Burst in consuming flame. 

Their white, deep-steeped, glares fateful forth. 

Rapacious, still, for more 
Encarmined Armies of the North 

Stretch south-ward hands of gore. 

Three thousand miles they march, and more, 

Prom out their frigid North. — 
. . . But ambushed fate is waiting for 

Red Armies of the North! 

For, See! . . . Prom hot West Indian lands 
Green-clad armies north-ward fare! 

Calm, silent, unobtrusive bands 
Green-swarm from jungle lair. 

[47] 



The green-plumed hosts, though witting well 
The force of jealous spleen, 

Surge north-ward — one green-tossing swell- 
Heroic Armies of the Green! 

Where other Northern armies reeled 

From Seminole's rude hank. 
The palm-hued hordes, now, choose the field 

To ambush, — fore and flank. 

The gray-green moss, in cunning keen, 

Hides countless warring head 
That swarming spring from Jungles green 

On Armies of the Red. 

Surrounded: stunned by cunning shock; 

The blood-hued minions fight. 
Green-armoured warriors ceaseless flock 

To choke Red-flaring bhght. 

And flerce the silent battle flows 
Where live — and north-oak meet. 

High-ridged tongues of angry glows 
Pierce ambushed green-flung beat. 

But reinforcements to the Green 

Palmetto-clothed spring forth: 
All, sisal-shod — with bay'nets keen. 

Halt Armies of the North! 

[48] 



Past cypress swamp ; by oak-grown hill 

Red Armies struggle through 
To palm-green vales; nor flee — until 

Palms view a Waterloo. 

Yet, further south, Reds, — dying, — strive! 

— Green-fronded trumpets blare! 
The victims, — last, of Red Horde's drive 

Sparse, exiled maples flare. 

Green-fronded arms in triumph wave! 

Green-tossing plumes fling high! 
. . .The gray-green moss for vanquished brave 

Breathes low, magnan'mous sigh. 

Three thousand miles they marched, and more; 

— Red — Armies of the North! 
Green-held: their southward drive is o'er: 

Fled — Armies of the North! 



[49] 



MY TREASURE SHIPS 

TO MY WIFE 

A Gulf between us rolls, my own, 

A waste both wild and wide. 

Yet, — wind so strong has never blown, — 

Nor rolled so roiled a tide, — 

Nor storm-roar stress to Gulf be-known, — 

— Can'st keep from thine own side 

My ships of love. 

My ships of love sail always true 

As compass heeds its star. 

With tithings rich as kings ne'er knew 

(Heart's tribute from afar). 

Each moment sail, or one or two. 

And straight are drawn by lode Heart-Star 

To you — their port of love. 

If gulf or Sea, or Time, my own, 
Or else that life may hold 
Between us sets or bound or tone 
Know this. . .Those all are — old — 
My love, of else, is young alone: 
Though Wind and Tide and Life be told, 
My love will find its own. 



50 



FROM THE OLD DYKE 

When I was young I always dreamed that Life 

was Long. 
. . . There was a dyke I often chmbed: — to hear 

the song 
Of Sea;— to feel on my hot cheek its breath blow 

free 
—And dream of Life; and things that Were to Be. 

My spirit roamed so far! To me that view 
Stretched wide to endless shore. Upon its magic 

blue 
I felt myself: . . . And mine — its wealth of storied 

song, 
—And space and time that but to changeless stars 

belong! 

Upon that dyke I always dreamed that Life was 
Long! 

Flowing swiftly twenty surging 
Tide-waves go! 
Southern landscapes mould my being. 
(Northern visions always seeing — 
Would they have yielded Larger Living? 
Who can know ! 

On Plymouth dyke I always dreamed that Life 
was Long! 

[51] 



And I am grown ! — Again I came to view 

The glowing greens: the magic Blue. 

. . .Two easy steps; and I had climbed the dyke! 

— And then there lay 
A scanty shore: — a tiny bay: . . .not blue — but 

gray. 
The self-same dyke where I had dreamed that Life 

was Long! 

My heart went faint and shrank in me. My cold 

cheek, too, 
The dry hot wind oppressed: — as did the meager 

view 
My sorrowed soul: . . .Where of old rode ships 

of storied song 
Ebbed now the sere sea-weed. . . 

. . .And I have now no time to do 
What I had hoped: — 

. . .When once I dreamed that Life was Long. 



[52] 



LOVE AFAR 

High — so High — the Moon floats by- 
Pine and Palm to cloudless sky 

Reach up — with plaintive croon. 

Far — so Far — those dear eyes are — 
Moon and Star! — to Her a~far 

Take now my heart's one tune. 



[53] 



CYPRESSES 

Majestical, lonely, forbidding, the desolate forest 

of cypress 
Guards at the mouth of the river. Beneath them 

the banyan-like mangrove 
Spreads far o'er the swamps and the sea-covered 

marshes. 
All alive with the cormorant, curlew and the 

plume bearing egret 
That, feeding by the sluggish rich river, arise 

encircling their branches, 
Incessantly bound in a dream-like oriental devo- 
tion. 
Laps at their feet the tropical tide. Steeped with 

a lotus-like fragrance 
Comes the breeze from the sea as a breath of the 

far-off Bahamas. 

Stand, — brooding through hours of moonlight 
o'er the silvery radiant lustre 

Sheening in mystical beauty the sea; and a spirit 
rebellious 

Seems to stir through the depth of their leafage, 
close-woven and moss-hung. 

And to ebb from their shadows malignant, with a 
sorrowing burden 

Of a wiser and fuller knowledge, — of a comfort- 
less desolation. 

Stand, — guarding the age-buried wrecks with 
their silver and golden treasure; — 
[54] 



The galleon ships of the Indies, grown-over and 

imbedded in coral : — 
Prey of the ravenous reef— 'neath the placid and 

treacherous ocean. 
Swaying and moaning they stand, and musing of 

times near forgotten: 
Of the days of their youth when the venturesome 

Spaniard, and Indian 
Skimmed in canoes o'er the crystalline translu- 
cent water; and they whisper 
Of journeys that long ago ended in the ominous 

cover of darkness: — 
Of the bones that are hid by the leaf-mould and 

the sea- washing grasses: — 
Of the tragic and sorrowful stories of which they 

alone are familiar. 
And they quiver and rustle with horror as they 

breathe their remembrance 
To the desolate sea-covered marshes and the salt- 
loving mangroves. 



[55] 



GULF STORM-SONG 
TO MY MOTHER 

Mother, — to thee! 

Great gulf-combers rolling: 

Ghost reef-bells low tolling: — 
Dark storm-sweeping roar descends around me. 

Like childish arms clinging, 

My thoughts now are winging, 
Mother, — to thee. 

Mother, — as thine! 

Old faith, new abounding, 

Drowns surges' resounding; 
— All — must be well if by Master design. 

. . . Faith — greater, recalling, — 

Through Li/^-storms befalling, — 
Mother,^ — that's thine. 



[56] 



MY LOVE IS A TOURIST 

A Trilogy of Floridian Love Moods 

PART I. 
MORNING 

SUMMER FLAMES 

The Bob White calls! 

Hear him usher in the day. 

"Bob White! . . . Day's bright! 

Hustle up and join his lay; 

"All right!— Bob White;" 

Follow down his dewy way: 

"Bob White, — you're rightl — 

It's sure enough — a brand new day!" 



A day when dreams may come to be: 
A day the floods that surge in me 
May swell the banks of Always-So 
And into fields of Strived-For flow. 



The Mocker trills! 
Hear him fill the air with glee. 
Why not mock! — Just as he! 
Puncture woe with melody! 
— Say . . . scat\ — like — that! 

[57] 



— (See that moody cat-bird flee!) — 

The Mocker trills. 

An echo thrills: — 

''There's joy for birds — why not for nieV 



There's joys have always wondered why 
I've never looked as I passed by. 
Sing ho! for joys long-patient, kind: — 
But what of the ones I've left behind? 



Hibiscus glow! 

Poinciana sets the day a-flare. 
See the coral creeper's show! 
Catch the Myrtle's crimson dare! 
In flow'rs alone must red love flow? 
Should plant and tree, unaided, bear 
A-flaunt the banner love would blow! 
O, Heart asleep; — Awake! And glowl 



With the red of the Corals, Love beckons to me ; 
In flashing hibiscus her fires I see; 
Through flaming acacia I know it is so 
— My Love, She will come! Her flame I shall 
know! 



[58] 



PART II 
MID-DAY 

THE SECRET SHRINE 

And still the sun swoons down the cotton, 
Hushed, expectant, quails the corn. 
Old hopes fail: Yet, unforgotten. 
In faintness dream of dewy morn. 

Now, the gushing, red-crape myrtle: 
Fateful, still,— the buzzard lone: 
Is there naught within can hurtle 
Far,— a crushing weight of stone? 

Fools still see our clouds fair mountains; 
Dreaming, deem our skies gem-blue : 
Know they not life's colour fountains 
Found their spring in heart of you? 

What are pines bemoaning ever? 
Why the bamboos' ceaseless sigh? 
Will the palm leaves call forever: — 
Endless; yearning aigrettes cry? 

The call, that North-birds autumn-hearing 
Brings winging back to southern sea, 
Is stronger far my heart's a-f earing 
Than the call my soul yields to thee. 

And so ; though swoons the drooping cotton : 
— Low, old Nature's woes intone; — 
Remains a shrine by all forgotten: 
There I sit and brood alone. 

[59] 



PART III. 
EVENING 

INVIOLABLE 

At evening I wander alone to the sea. 

The breakers that come bring solace to me; 

And scarcely the gulls take trouble to flee 

Away from my goal. 
Yet, Evening turns somewhere within me a key: 
And opens a room; 
A secret deep room, 
Par-hid in the house of my soul. 

And nothing of land its answer can hold ; 
There's nothing of Nature so flaming and bold: 
And strange though it be, there's nothing so old 

In sea or in sky 
As the questions and dreamings that endless unfold 
From out of that room; — 
That sweet-keeping room, 
That seems even older than I. • 

But sometimes my sea beneath the night blue 
'Comes a mirror for souls to see through. 
. . . And once did I dream that my love was quite 
new! 
. . . But now do I know 
'Tis older than life; 'Tis the key and the clew 
That opens my room; 
And keeps the deep room 
A sweet place where none other may go. 

[60] 



THE CLOUD MOUNTAINS OP FLORIDA 

To the south lie the magical mountains, 

That half circling the horizon rise; 
The mystical, magical, faraway mountains,— 

In the depth of the tropical skies. 

They are fairer than mountains are ever 

In the lands of a gloomier sun; 
Their peaks, — like visions mirage-like, — forever — 

Are as goals that may never be won. 

Like the mountains of enchanted story; 

Or the pictured Delectable range, — 
They are clothed in a tremulous glamourous glory 

Through wondrous virginal change. 

In the morn, — faint dim in the azure — 

As a mind-haunting dream-thought they lie; 

Elusive, intangible,— trance-born,— they measure 
An infinite depth in the sky. 

'Neath the spell of the tropical beaming, 
Their dream-merging tracings upon, 

— As impelled by a pulsing supernal, — their 
seeming 
Is nearer, mysteriously drawn. 



[61] 



Ever fairer, and nearer, and clearer, 

— Like a dream coming consciously true, — 

As from out a fairy-like wonderful mirror. 
Their peak-lines emerge from the blue. 

And at last o'er the shimmering fountains. 
Lying siDarkling and gleaming between, 

Rise the clear-imaged heights of the magical 
mountains, 
All enclothed in a glamourous sheen. 

As I gaze on their mystical splendor, 

Prom the palm-grove beside of the sea; 

I glimpse of a land where the fancy may enter 
But never the spirit may be. 

Of a land where the colors are golden, 

And of snowy and heavenly white ; 
Where the lustrous dreaming in which it is 
holden 

Never is darkened with shadings of night. 

But radiant for always — and ever, 

In pure supernatural rays; 
Fleecy white always blending with golden, — 
forever. 

Through changeless monotonous days. 



[62] 




^ 




^^^^^ 



^^^m..z^ 



^^^^J 



And serene; unaffected with sadness, 
Or the pulsings that earth beauty mar: 

Yet never enlightened with tingeings of gladness: 
— For nothing but Fancies there are! 

And the fancy delights in that leisure 

Of those mountains where peace ever reigns: 

— But their magical, mystical, glamourous 
treasure 
Holds a calmness the spirit disdains. — 

So they lie in the glimmerings golden; 

Untroubled and calm — far-away — : 
In a fanciful lustrous beauty enfolden 

Through the dreamy-long, tropic day . . . 

At the day-close, the magical mountains 

Fade away in a golden-like haze, — 
And no glimpsings are left 'bove the darkening 
fountains 
And no tracings through the swift-falling 
maze . . . 

I would not dwell in the magical mountains. 
Where never the golden light dies; — 

For, 'tis joy of the fancy, — and none of the 
spirit, — those mountains 
In the depth of the tropical skies. 



[63] 



THE HEIR OP TROPIC SPRING 

To be born in the sweet tropic spring-time 

When honey-steeped breezes sing low ; 
When birds in the oranges mating 

'Midst their bridal- wreaths swing to-and-fro ; 
When even the pine-boughs, each breathing low 
cheer, 

Lover-like bow to the jessamine near. 
And always — cool voicings from palm-choired 
ocean 

Echo dreamings 'tis gladness to know. 

Oh ! To be born in this sweet southern spring-time 
Is to be heir of its joy; the child of its play; 

Is to throb to the tune of the sweet-pulsing music 
Unloosed from the harp of a South-loving Fay; 

Is to feel the deep bond of this sensuous Beauty, 
The sweet-yielding secrets of tropical May. 



[64] 



BALLAD OF THE ANGEL FISH 



Says Uncle Simon Finder: . . . 
". . . The only fish that used to be 
Within the seas o'Flor-i-dee, — 
Were Angel-Fish: 

They all were women fishes, tool 



And angel lives those fishes spent 

In our rich seas, above the coral floor. 

. Not one e'er knew what sorrow 
meant — 
—They swam about on angel-fins — 
Sparkling, gauzy, fairy fins— 

That brightly glistened above that coral 
floor; — 
And all was one fish 'armony! 



'Tis true each had o' fins — 
Another plainer uglier set, — 
That grew some where beneath 

— Those sparkling gauzy fairy fins, 
Those other fins were but for use 
In case a fish should ever choose 
To leave its happy angel home 

Above that coral floor. 



[65] 



And there was law (that — no fish knew) 

That e'er — if they should choose to cruise: — 

Those fairy sparkling fins 

Should all be left deep down upon the coral floor! 



And this was law — that no fish knew — 
(Because no fish yet had thought to do) — 
Aught else but swim 
On angel fin — 

O'er gleaming ghstening coral floor. 



Once they met — to have a grand **to-do:" 
And after they had played ''hi spy;" and then 

few 
Like trials o' swimming skill: — 

... A thin old scraggly angel fish, — 
— She had a bill that all but joined her chin — 
. . . She raised one scrawny fin : — 
And shrilled: — 

**Us women fish — we've lived this sea 
For nigh a million cen-tu-ree, — 
And — just to think! — That yet have we 
Nei^cr tried to find some better sea! 

. . . Some better broader richer Sea — 
That waits our finny grasp! 



[66] 



At this deep thought 
— This deep — deep thought; — 
(Fifty fathoms deep or more) — 
Those erstwhile angelic women fish 

. . . Gave all an Awful Gasp! 



Their angel-fins — with one unclasp 
They threw down on the coral floor. 



... As One Mighty chattering Pour 
They rushed away from Plor-i-dee 
To find that Sea: — 
That better broader richer Sea! 

****** 

(Their Angel Fins they all did leave 

Down deep upon the coral floor — ) 

****** 

Those pretty sparkling angel fins — 
— That ne'er had led them into sins — 
Those lovely glistening gauzy fins 
On which they could but joy receive! 



Their Angel Fins they all did leave 

Down deep upon the coral floor,- 
Along the coast of Flor-i-dee. 

****** 

... If ever those poor fishes found a flow 
Of richer deeper fairer Sea — 

/ can not tell! 

[67] ' 



. . . But I know well, — 
That,— 

— As in the sea do fish-lives go — 
It was no lengthy spell, — 
Before,— 

Along the coast o' Flor-i-dee 
Those fishes 'gan to homeward flow! 
****** 

. . . But Ah! — the Change I 
Where all had angel fishes been 
(As though by touch of Magic Sin) 
— 'Twas but the Touch o' Ocean's Strange — 
— Those fishes once of angel fin — 

. . . Came now so sad with gills sagged 
low, 
— Came twisting back; — so mournful — slow 
. . . O'er each sick head regretful glow 
For the fin that might have been! 



. . . For it is sad — but it is true! 
That old fair fin — 

Might still have been 
Their dear prized fin — 
But for their sin! 

. . . But now no more 
No, . . . nevermore: — 
Will angel fishes find their fins — 
Those precious sparkling Angel Fins — 

. . . That they did cast on coral floor! 

[68] 



For when each came and searched around 
No trace of fins could then be found — 
. . . No trace of those fair Angel Pins! 



They searched for days; — 
But ne'er a trace 

... Of glowing sparkling Angel Fins! 
They searched for years, — 
In bitter tears — 

—Of fishly woe. 
But / do know 

— That to this day they have no more 
Found slightest trace of fairy fins — 
... Of richly shining fairy fins 
They once did leave upon the coral floor! 

^ w tP ^ w ^ 

And that is why off Flor-i-dee 

The fishes ne'er will leave ifs sea! 



They each do hope to find once more 
Their Angel Fins on coral floor." 



[69] 



THE SONG OF THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 

When calm the night, in silv'ry moonhght 

drown'd, 
And hushed in folds of deep and dreamless sleep 
Seems all the world, a plaintive mournful sound 
Disturbs the silent air, and breaks the deep — 
And awesome hush with notes of tenor shrill; 
Quick uttered notes in ceaseless monotone. 
And filled with the weird sadness the whip-poor- 
will 
Unburdens alone, to the kindly moon. 

Thy song so simple, hath yet a charm 
That weaves all unconsciously into the spell 
The moonlight throws around. Thy quick alarm 
Bears tale of long complaint: that blends in flight 
With murmured woes that sobbing pine-boughs 

tell: 
And, sad, regretful, speaks for list'ning Night. 



[70] 



ALONG THE INDIAN RIVER 

A brown-eyed child looking through the car win- 
dow . . . 



Oh baby, what seest thou there in the tide, 
That holds thy brown eyes so close to the pane? 

Is't visions of wonder that to us are denied, 
That rise from the sea by the swift-moving 
train? 

What seest thou there in the far-away Blue, 
Where ocean waves roll to the palm-tufted 
shore? 
What glimpses of beauty, — seen only by you — 
What mysteries dwell where the soft surges 
roar? 

Oh Baby that breaker so fleecy and white 

That sports with it's fellows in gambolling play, 

Holds figures and pictures of splendid dehght, 
Unseen by thy friends of the soberer day. 

The oak-boughs that blow by the water's low 
marge, 
Are happy Elfs' play-grounds that shake with 
their glee, 
The silver-rigged clouds, and the Hght skimming 
barge, 
Are all heavy laden with treasures for thee. 
[71] 



The blue of the sea, and the blue of the sky, 
The brown of the fields and the green of the 
trees, 
The scarlet and purple where Night-Angels fly, — 
Are but gowns of the Beings thine innocence 
sees. 

That rainbow of glory that strains each wide eye. 
Is the Highway of travel for Elfin and Fay, 

Across it's great arch the bright joyous throngs fly. 
To and fro on their errands of roseate play. 

Oh Baby, that gull that is circling so free 
Beyond, and above, seest Earth as dost thou; 

The soils and the stains thou as yet dost not see; 
But sweetness and Beauty are visible now. 

As move o'er the water the clouds in the skies. 
Reflecting again to the day-dreamer's gaze; 

So the pureness and sweetness that shine from 
thine eyes 
Come back all undimmed by reality's haze. 

As I look in thine eyes, oh Baby, I know 
How far, O how far, from me is the day. 

When trusting and faithful, in innocence' glow, 
I laughed upon Life as thou look'st o'er the bay. 

I see in thy gaze a wide world that is lost, 

A country of Past and of old; and I feel 
As sad hearted travelers, by troubled seas tossed, 
When turns the mind backward to times of 
good weal. 

[72] 



CLOUDS AND HOPES 

The wind sings drear in the pines to-night; 

And the strugghng moon shines dim; 
Par off — the song of the night-bird's flight 

Comes dull as a funeral hymn. — 
The scuds that fly o'er the gray-lit sky 

By the moon so dull and sad, 
Are ghostly forms that pass and die 

As the hopes we once have had. 

Dark hopeless forms on the night-wind's wing 

Passing onward in endless flight. 
To one afar, — where the skylarks sing, 

And the dawn in its fresh-born light 
Is tuning the heart to the merriest lay, 

And gilding all nature with gold; — 
These forms now so dull, — 'neath the magical 
day. 

Who knows but great Promise may hold? 



[73] 



GOLDEN DAYS ON THE OKLAWAHA 

One day as I walked through the woodland 
And along by the banks of the stream, 
— I surprised — in the depths of the gleam — 
The Spirit that governs the woodland 
In the midst of a w^onderful dream. 

So still was the heart of the forest, 

And so faintly I felt of its breath, 

— 'Twas hushed as one holding her breath — 

That I feared in my musings — for lest 

— The dream be the dreaming of death. 

But as the breath of life on a mirror 
Of one deemed to be passing away, 

O'er the stream — as faint flushings of gray — 
Moved the spirit, ebbing nearer and nearer 
To its death through the autumn day. 

And I gained to the heart of its being; 
E'en the innermost place of its dream: 

And as souls in communion may seem 
The owners of fancies together, — so seeing, 
I passed midst the golden-hazed gleam. 

The dream was ablaze of the gladness 
Of days that were long-ago fled: 

Of Spring-time, — of Youth, — and of Hope — led 
Rosy-tinged fancies, — such, e'er the shadow of 

sadness 
Throws over it's mantle of dread. 

[74] 



All aglow with the roseate beamings, 
And a-flare in the dight of the bold, 

All the flames that stirred youth from of old- 
Were the visions I glimpsed as the dreamings 

Were imaged in scarlet and gold. 

The blood-dyes of the smi-sets of summer; — 
The purple-blent floods o'er the sea; — 

The flash and the riot of flower spread lea — 
All the heart-glows of the vanished summer; — 
Were pictured from memory. 

The pulsings of departed pleasures ; 
And the achings of inspired pain 

As though throbbing in essence again — 
Seemed blending with the exquisite measures 
Of a music of longing so vain. 

An impulse of unknown stirring, 
Like echoes of prophecy 

A shadow of eternity — 
Seemed to bring o'er the visions a blurring, 
And the callings of memory; — 
As whispers are blent in the murmuring 
Of the fathomless irrepressible sea. 



So sadly I left Nature a-dreaming 
There in the golden-hazed gleam; 

The joyous — sad wonderful dream — 
For the visions I had glimpsed held the seeming 
Of thoughts deeper than dreamers may dream. 

[75] 



RETURNING ALONE 

TO EUNICE 

Only last night there were dreams! 

There — happy with you 

Manhattan Night's Dream was shared by us two : 

High City of Wonder! — we watched its mimes 

play 
Through Drive, bright Avenue, dimmed parks, and 

Broadway. 
The Hudson, — rich glimpse of Arabian sky — 
Proclaimed it a vision quickly to die. 
But we dreamed it all true ! 
'Twas real for us two. 
Now, — (if it's true) — 'tis real — but to you. 

Only one night! 

One south-speeding night; one stark Georgian 

day: 
And City of Dreams seems farther away 
Than Sheherzerade, Sinbad, or Arabian sky: 
And further than far, those dreamings which I 
But only last eve so treasured a-new. 

This only is true: — 
I cannot dream, even. 
Dear, without you. 



[76] 



THE COMING OF TROPICAL NIGHT 

The life that is Day is dying away, 

Fading; receding; as the tropical ocean 
Sleepily ebbs in sensuous motion. 

With smft-moving brush, in colors of fire, 

The spirits of nature, the great western canvas, 

Transform; touch softly; and subtly inspire; 

As though with a great and a glowing desire 

To enliven the day that is fainting away. 

There comes with a rush from the magical 
brush, — 
Tall castles and ramparts all burnished and 

gleaming; 
Mountains of gold with molten floods stream- 
ing; 
Great torrents and rivers of red-seething fluid 
— A wild ragged ocean of fantastic motion — 
Broad forests of copper with blood leafage lurid. 
Swift-changing visions transcendentally hued 
— Bom of a touch, — to pass at their flush. 



[77] 



Like views on a screen — with all space in 
between, — 
Caught and transfigured on the sea's placid 

mirror 
Move passing fancies. The sky visions, — 
clearer 
Glow with rich hues flashing mellowed and softer, 
— As ebbing vibration from a fairy Creation: — 
— Bright fugitives fleeing from night legions' 

slaughter ; 
Now caught and imprisoned by gnomes of the 

water — 
— They pass as a dream o'er ocean's low screen. 

The shades of the night in tropical bhght 
Out of the eastward, — as billows of vapor — 
Slowly arise. In phantom-like labor. 
Obscure; . . . enfold; — in eagerness spread; 
Outstretch in unrest toward the red-glowing West 
Hands dark and gigantic, — that fill with a dread: 
A straining desire for the day that is dead ; 
— The day that the night has mantled with blight. 

A zephyr-Hke sighing, — as breath from the dying, 
— Breath of the passing of day, a wail for a 

morrow. — 
Moaning sobs in low heart-throbs of sorrow; 
Now dying in space, — the dead day as though 

tracing 
To realms of the past, — it's endless Oblivion . . . 
Comes sadly returning with woe all embracing; 

[78] 



It's murmurs dispelling the now erasing glow 
— Like color last flying from cheeks of the dying. 

Last streamers of Light! — The Wings of the Night 
Noiselessly rushing from day's devastation, 
Blotting, — all — folds in black desolation. 
The night with it's fears; it's doubtings; it's 

shrinking ; 
The dark thickly forming as clouds in the 

storming. 
Comes down with it's dread. The dread that the 

linking 
Of dark of the night and of death in our thinking, 
—Brings after the hght on the wings of the night. 



[79] 



